The sound of silence

It's almost Fashion Week-- which, more importantly for models, means The Week Before Fashion Week. Which means a lot of standing in line, taking photos, walking back and forth on runways (read: hallways), and listening to guys talk about cooler-than-you shit like skateboarding and Diplo. I actually thought Diplo was like a Billy Mays cleaning product until I realized that makes no sense and Billy Mays is dead.

None of these things is Diplo. Also, R.I.P. Billy Mays.

There doesn't tend to be a hell of a lot of talking outside of that though. For a couple of reasons. First is the simple kind of silence that can settle over a group of people who were just forced to wait together. It's like there's a threshold for it-- if it's you and one other person, sure, you're likely to chat. If it's you and a larger group, it's just easier to pull out your iPod and blast that Diplo guy (or better yet, in an ode to this post's title, blast Simon & Garfunkel). If it's you by yourself holding a full out-loud conversation, you should maybe not kill anyone.

The second reason for silence is that some of them are girls. And when chicks are at a casting-- and this is even more pronounced at an actual show-- the place tends to look like a middle-school dance. This isn't out of some middle-school fear of talking to girls however (unless you're me). It's the industry. Generally speaking, the lifespan of a male and female model is wildly different. By the time a guy gets started, a girl is probably getting ready to retire. Or screaming about how she totally looks young enough to not have to retire.

As a result it's as much split up by age as by sex. It's not an aversion to chicks, it's an aversion to approaching what could very well be a 16-year-old chick. Let alone one that's Polish and doesn't understand a thing coming out of your dumbfuck American mouth.

This was on particular display during a show earlier this year, where I was reading a newspaper, left to get my hair done (which sounds weird to say, but anyway), and came back to a girl sitting on it. Taking the seat next to her I gently took my paper back and apologized in my incredibly understandable Midwestern slang with "I hope I'm not cramping your style."

The problem was she didn't speak much English. Her face looked like I had just made her poop her pants.

Moreover, is there a better way to show the age disparity here than the fact that I was reading a fucking NEWSPAPER at a god damn fashion show?

 Me, before going on the runway.

EDIT: Per Women's Wear Daily this morning, the Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) is recommending that models be carded at the upcoming shows to ensure that they are at least, get this...16. (Even though the difference between 15 and 16 is the difference between wearing a Justin Bieber tanktop from My World and a Justin Bieber tanktop from My World 2.0.) I can only give this blog post credit for the decision, which was no doubt reached well before this blog post was published. Also, most guys will still totally be standing away from them in the corner.